Sunday, December 6, 2015

How do you
sum up the life of a man like Jules Jack Van de Velde? You can't. So I won't.
It's impossible to tie a bow around this kind of love. That, and he wasn't one
to ever talk about his own accomplishments, so we want to honour him by
not doing that. Rather, as a family we want to tell you how he lived, not what
he did, and to share what he taught us and what he'd want us to never forget.
And I think the best way to do that is to use his words. A while back, I asked him
some questions, and I want to share a few of his responses with you:

Dad,
who or what is your greatest love? My wife

What's
the most useful lesson you learned in school? Mathematics

What's
your biggest regret? (big pause) Dad...did
you fall asleep? Are my questions boring you? Nope. But I can't
think of anything. Nothing? There's not
one thing you would have changed? Well, it would have been nice to be able
to see. Although that could have happened to anyone, I guess.

Dad,
at the end of each day, when you pause for a second to contemplate your life,
what do you say to yourself? I thank the Lord for being as it is.

What's
the most embarrassing thing you've ever done, Dad? I don't think that should
be told here.

What's
one simple, magical thing that makes you smile every time you experience
it?
Harvest

If
you could ask God one question, what would it be? Will I end up in
heaven? Tell you what Dad…if you don’t
make it, it’s not looking so good for your kids. We might as well give up
trying to be good, so look out.

If
you could make just one wish for your children, what would it be? That they always
love God, and that they always feel his love. And that they love each
other. That's all I could wish for anyone.

I’ll always
treasure that he shared these responses, and what a message for all of us to
remember. Love God, and love each other - the rest is easy.

There's a Parable of
Immortality
that tells the tale of standing upon a seashore, watching
a ship spread its white sails to the morning breeze. It starts for
the blue ocean, an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch until at
last it hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down
to touch each other. Then someone at my side says, "There he goes!" Gone where? I
ask. Gone from my sight, that is all. He is just as large in mast and hull
as he was when he left my side. And just as able to bear his load to his
final destination. His diminished size is in me, not in him. And just at
that moment, someone at my side says again, "There he goes! He is gone." Just as other eyes are
watching him approach from the other side, gladly shouting, “Here he comes! Here he comes!"

There are a
lot of happy people rejoicing with him right now - his friends that have
gone before him, his family - but in our grief it's hard to comprehend that,
because we selfishly want him here with us. Grief is not a sign of
weakness, nor is it a lack of faith. It’s the price of love. We know that we
were better people with him here; he held us all together. He made you want to
be a better person simply by watching how he lived his life. What he said and
what he did was harmonious, always in line, and it was always straight
with the world. He used to tell us, "Whatever you do in your life, whether it's building a shed or planting
a crop, don't cut corners. Make sure it's right with the world."

Sadly, I
don't think the world gets to see many men like him - his faith, his kindness, from
the biggest of people to the smallest of God's creatures, his generosity,
wisdom, strength and courage. He taught us the importance of a strong work
ethic and of doing a good job, the importance of family ties and how to enjoy
the simple things in life. As the saying goes, he had the gift of making the
ordinary come alive. He helped us to find the wonder and marvel in an ordinary
life - he showed us the joy of tasting apples off a tree, and drinking a
strawberry milkshake in the field, and he showed us how to cry and grieve when
people and pets died. Every single cat that bit it got a proper service, and
trust me when I say there were more than a few. Dad would wrap each little one
up in a soft cloth, load us into the truck, and we’d head up to the hill for a
proper burial and good-bye. In doing so, he would teach us lessons long before
we fully understood their meaning. To everything there is a season, and a time
for every purpose under heaven.

He had the
ability to find the good in absolutely everything and everyone, even in those
where it was a little harder to find. Especially in those. Because Dad made
finding the good in everybody a choice, a deliberate action, and he made that
choice every single day, not just when it was easy or when he felt like it. He
also taught us that if you couldn't find it in yourself to be kind, then it was
better to just keep your mouth shut. And as his body continued to fail him,
when we would ask if he was in pain, he would tell us that he had absolutely
nothing to complain about. Through all that, he taught us that even though you
were in pain, it didn't mean you had to be one. A stroke took away his ability to walk. A degenerative eye disease took
away his ability to see. But nothing could ever take away this man's love for
his family, and his love for life. As for what he did? In his eyes, farming was
the most noble profession one could pursue - sowing, reaping and helping feed
the world. I have yet to meet someone who loved what he did with his life more
than him, nor do I suspect I ever will. He used that passion and thirst for
knowledge to serve and give back to his community by being a member on various
boards and committees over the years, fueled by a desire to make the most of
the gifts he’d been given.

And right to
the very end, he had his humour. The best kind - dry, witty, and a little
bit bad. I remember a few of us playing cards a couple of years ago. For some
reason that night, we had decided to play a game that we didn’t play very
often, and not one of us could remember the rules. Finally someone said, “Dad, of all people, you must remember the
rules!” I still remember Dad’s reply
like it was yesterday. "Hey”, he
said, “Don't look at me. I had a stroke.
At least I have an excuse." Dad
also had a knack for telling jokes, and he would tell them like a story,
leading into it without you ever knowing he was telling you one, until you
found yourself buried deep in the punch line. Back during my university days, I
came upstairs one morning - chances are fairly
good I was looking a little bit rough. The conversation went like this:

"Morning,
Dad."

“Oh, good
morning sunshine. Just so happens you were in my dream last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. We
were in a terrible car crash and we both died.”

“Oh. That's
terrible.”, I said.

“Yeah. And
it gets worse. Much worse.”

“Worse?
How's that even possible? We died.”

“Well, let
me tell you. We started walking together up the staircase to heaven. It was so
beautiful. I was so busy looking around, that I slipped and twisted my ankle.”

“Ugh. Good
grief, Dad. This sounds more like a nightmare than a dream.”

“Yeah, well,
I hurt myself pretty good. But, being the good child that you are, you threw me
onto your back and crawled up the last few steps carrying your Father on your
back.”

“Ah. I am
SUCH a good person!”

“Yup.” he
said. “And upon arrival at the gates of heaven, St. Peter was standing there, arms
open wide, and you know what he said? He said: Why, hello Jack!
We've been expecting you. As for your mule, you can tie it up at the
gate."

That was
Dad’s kind way of telling some of us that we still had a bit of work to do.

So now we stand
here, two ends of time neatly tied. We stand together missing him, hoping
for one last chat, one last hug, one final kiss. I often wonder if people are
scared when it comes time to let go - it's the one thing you have to do alone.
But Dad, you knew you were going home, and you were ready. The day before you
left us, you were telling everyone in the hospital that you were
going home the next day. We weren't sure if it was possible to bring you home,
because you were pretty weak, but you were adamant you were going home. So of
course we were trying to figure out a way to make that happen. What we didn't
realize was that you were talking about your other home. You weren’t coming
home, you were going home, exactly like you said. The confusion was ours, not
yours. Because you knew. Your beautiful mind was razor sharp, right to the end.
You knew exactly when you were going to take your leave. You
were ready to go...I'm just not sure we were ready to let you. Because how exactly do you say goodbye to the person who held it all
together, the one who saw the good in everything and everyone? The one who
loved us for who we were, not who we thought we should be. Unconditional love,
how rare, and what a gift. To have someone believe in you completely, just the way
you are, and to never be judged. I think that's why people would bloom in your
presence, Dad, and feel like their best self. And maybe that's why you chose
the exact moment you did, so that not one of us had to bear the pain of
watching you go. You were always a gentleman that way, trying to keep others
from hurting. And I also think you knew that you weren’t going alone - you
knew you'd be taking a piece of every single one of us with you. You always
had the ability to restore our faith, and you did so again
in your final hours.

In closing, I’m going to share some words that came to me over the past few days.
I don't think they're my words. I'd like to think they came from Dad, and I just
held the pen. Here they are:

His heart is overflowing, for he carries
a piece of everyone he's ever loved, and of all those who have loved
him, with him. It's not heavy though, all that love. No, it's not heavy at
all. The love carries him like wings. Ah, he says, this is what
the wings are made of. He now knows. He now knows that he’s
always known. Thisis what carries
you forth through all of eternity. It's love, just love. Returning him home to
the place from where he came. He returns beloved, beautiful, whole, complete. His
joy bursts and floats across the fields of gold, dancing beads of light, flecks
against the sky. He wants them all to know so he tells them, his voice
flowing into the universe. He tells them, I am free, I am whole, I am
home.

It’s hardest
to say goodbye to those who were the easiest to love. And Dad, were you ever
easy to love. Your heart was bigger than any room you entered, and you made the
world better just by being in it. We miss you so incredibly much. But how lucky
we are to have had the kind of love that makes saying goodbye so hard. Until
next time sunshine, know that you were loved beyond measure, and we'll know
that we were blessed beyond all treasures of this earth to have had you. You
didn't tell us how to live our lives. You didn’t have to. You simply lived
yours, and in doing so, we saw how it was meant to be done. Thank you Dad, for
everything. May we honour you by living our lives to be a little more like you.
Because simply put, you were the greatest person we have ever known, and
everything in a person we could hope to be. And it just so happens we were
blessed to call you Dad. We love you, we thank God for you, and may He hold you
in the palm of his hand.